Professor Richardson Foster blanched when he opened the door of his big campus home and saw on his doorstep the young blonde coed that he'd had sex with earlier in the Lab.
"I want to see your wife," said Cheryl. "I've got to see Mrs. Lisbeth Foster.”
"Oh, oh, no, young lady. That's impossible," the frightened man cried. No doubt the young lady meant to blow the whistle on him.
For a few confused moments Cheryl didn't understand what was going on in his head. She concentrated totally on getting the figurine, and she had no thought of protesting Foster's sex use of her earlier. Just the same, she stood there shocked. In all of the excitement of the chase it hadn't occurred to her that Lisbeth Foster would turn out to be the wife of the very same professor whose cock she'd sucked.
Harold came out of the gloom to set things right.
"We have to see Mrs. Foster about a piece of sculpture I gave her today," he explained. Foster still blocked the door.
"My wife's having one of her bad headaches. You can't see her tonight.”
For once in his life, Harold rose to the occasion. Maybe it was his liking for Cheryl and what she and Abby had done for him.
"That's also why we came," said Harold smoothly. "I mean, I want to talk about the sculpture. Cheryl here-she's a Swedish masseuse. She's an expert on bad backs. When Mrs. Foster complained today, I knew I had to dig up someone for her."
She shot Harold a startled look and Foster said: "Is that true, young lady? You're a massager."
Anything to get into the house. "Yessir," she said. "I learned Swedish massage in New York. My father's a widower and he has lots of trouble with his back, so I learned.”
Foster hesitated, so Cheryl pushed past him into the house. She beckoned to Harold.
"Harold, maybe you'd better go see Mrs. Foster and let her know I'm here.”
She wanted a word with the professor in private, and hoped Harold could go get the statuette without her having to fake some dumb massage scene.
Harold continued to track nicely.
"Sure. Is she in the upstairs bedroom, Professor?"
Foster nodded cautiously. He trusted Harold. He liked Harold, who helped Lisbeth with her campus art activities and kept an over-energetic wife happy. Furthermore, it was preposterous to think of Harold as having carnal designs on Lisbeth or anyone else. Harold went off happily upstairs.
Cheryl felt the professor study her guardedly. There she was in her cut-off jeans, boots and cape. She could see his male hormones begin to tingle with all that bare thigh showing.
"Well, if you can be discreet about what goes on in the Chem Lab," he said, "there's no reason why… " He let it drift off.
She continued the role Harold had given her. "I just want my twenty bucks for the massage," she said. "I need the money.”
"I didn't realize… Spider never told me-”
"Young guys don't need massages. Your Swedish type is very straight, no hanky-pank.”
He put an arm around her and escorted her to the hallway.
"You can wait in my study, Cheryl. Uh, maybe you can earn forty bucks. I could use a massage myself. After you do the other, that is.”
His thigh had bumped hers and his arm about her waist pulled her close.
"One thing at a time," she breathed.
She had no desire to get further involved with Foster. But he, feeling safe, now appeared delighted by her visit. His arm moved under the cape. More squeezes.
"I like you very much, Cheryl. You were a real good sport with Spider today. I have certain influence on this campus and I can probably help you in a number of ways.”
She pulled free of him. "I'll keep it in mind."
His lust was up. Again his hand went under her cape and he squeezed her ass.
"Come on, Cheryl. It's not like we are strangers. I love the kind of things you do.”
The rest of the interview consisted of the professor chasing her around his study in restrained pursuit. She didn't want to make him mad and he didn't want her to get upset and stalk out. At last Harold returned. His eyes looked miserable.
"She didn't want to talk about the Doris Miller," he said crest-fallen. "She wants the massage, though. Her back is killing her.”
Cheryl felt her heart jump. He'd tossed the ball to her. Common sense told her to give up, but her compulsive drive to get hold of Salt drove her.
"So let's go upstairs.”
"Be sure and see me on the way out," Foster called after them as she quickly took Harold's hand and guided him out of the study…
As they climbed the stairs, he said: “What happens now?”
"We'll fake the massage," she hissed. "We'll steal it, that's all. Is it in the house. Do you know where?”
"Yeah," he said. "She stacks all the stuff in a bedroom they don't use since their kids grew up. It's probably in there, just down the hall from her bedroom.”
"Good. I'll start and you stay around I'll go for a toilet break or something and grab it. Or maybe it's better if you grab it while I work her over.”
"No, no!" squeaked Harold. "I couldn't do that. You grab it while I keep her talking. Then she won't blame me.
Men! she thought. Weaklings, when it came time to protect their interests…
Actually the massage was fun. Cheryl began to get into the spirit of it, once she got Lisbeth Foster on the bed, naked, with a towel across her hips. Deft questions assured Cheryl that Lisbeth knew nothing about Swedish massage. The woman had an older face and gray-streaked hair, but below her shoulders she had a terrific figure. She took good care of herself. Her skin was smooth, pliable, the muscles soft and sexy. She had pretty good breasts, a nice behind, and great legs and thighs. In spite of herself, Cheryl felt her cunt warm as she worked on the nude woman. Ever since giving in to her leech of girl sex with Abby, Cheryl felt able to touch and appreciate other feminine flesh. The professor was crazy to want to play around behind this woman's back. But it added to the sexiness of this situation to realize she'd pulled the plug of the cock that normally got off in Lisbeth's cunt. If the woman only knew.
"Ah, that's so good. That feels so good," cried Lisbeth as Cheryl's fingers dug in.
"Time I'm done you won't even know you have a bad back," Cheryl told her.
As she worked on the flesh of the woman's back and moved down the smooth taper, Cheryl began to get an idea. It was wild, but it made sense in what she wanted to do. She skipped the towel to work on the woman's back thighs. Her hands rose higher and higher towards her crotch. Harold sat a few feet away, talking to Mrs. Foster about some of her art projects. Cheryl's woman's sense told her that the older woman would not have let Harold witness this massage unless she liked the young man. Even in the few minutes she'd worked, Cheryl realized that Lizbeth liked the young man a whole lot. Further, her experience with the Professor told her that the Fosters, like so many people who were married for a long time, had roving eyes. There was a lot of sublimated sexuality between the sexy, older woman and Harold, although he didn't realize it.
Cheryl's hand went under the towel and she gently jogged the older woman's cunt. She felt tension in the woman's loins and her own sex rush and a blush. Cheryl held her breath. Her hand slid back down on the thighs.
The older woman's dark eyes looked at Cheryl, as Lisbeth turned her head to peer over her shoulder. Lisbeth looked puzzled-and a little hot-eyed. She said nothing and that was all Cheryl needed.
"All right, Harold," said Cheryl. "You can help me now.”
"Wh-what?" squeaked Harold.
Cheryl went on smoothly, talking to Lisbeth. "I'm teaching Harold my massage system,” she said. "If he's good enough at it, we may open a service in Brighton. Since you and he are already-sort of friends-would you mind?”
“Listen,” said Harold, blushing. "It's nothing of the kind-”
"Come on, Harold," Cheryl cut him off. "You don't have to hide it from Mrs. Foster-Lisbeth.”
"Not at all," said Lisbeth with a laugh. "I've often encouraged Harold to learn to do something useful with his hands. He spends too much time in his head.”
"So hop to it, Harold," Cheryl ordered. "You get busy on the back while I take care of the legs.”
"I-I-I-" Harold stammered.
"Harold, get over here!" Lisbeth's tone was peremptory and Harold jumped.
A few seconds later, coat off, sweating and blushing, Harold dug his hands into the nude flesh of his patroness, while Cheryl "instructed" him as she continued to squeeze the sexy thighs of the professor's wife.
"Slowly, Harold… move the flesh in and out… take your time. Be firm but not painful… now then… your knuckles on the backbone, but not too hard.”
Cheryl had her own fun down below. Harold was too confused to notice what she was doing to his patroness. Cheryl's hot hand sneaked under the towel to work that luscious cunt, making it swell and wet, just as her own cunt began to swell and wet. Lisbeth's hot eyes crossed hers, and Cheryl saw that the older woman was both amused and delighted at getting this erotic attention from the two young people. Pretty soon Lisbeth made very gentle humping motions and a soft groan escaped her lips.
"Was I-too harsh!" cried Harold.
"You're doing fine, Harold," said Cheryl.
She spread some of Mrs. Foster's cunt honey down on the soft inner thighs and had to breathe fast at the glisten and feel of it.
If she weren't careful, Cheryl feared she'd forget the real reason she'd come here and start a mini-orgy right on Lisbeth's bed. Certainly the older woman enjoyed it. Her legs had opened, her butt had tensed and relaxed under the towel. Bravo! The worldly, quick-thinking professor's wife was plenty fast on the uptake, adjusting to this lucky situation and letting Cheryl manage the whole thing.
Cheryl had Lisbeth turn over, covering those quite excellent breasts with a smaller towel. Harold modestly averted his eyes, but Cheryl didn't. The woman's nipples were as hard as if they had been carved out of stone. Cheryl's own breasts tensed in appreciation of the hot sex flashes she knew Lisbeth felt.
“You take the legs, Harold," Lisbeth ordered with a quick look up at Cheryl.
"Good idea," murmured Cheryl.
She knew now that she and Lisbeth were in league together with dark designs on that lump of cock that Harold carried between his legs. Harold knew that something was up, but with his near-virgin innocence, he couldn't quite understand what was happening.
Cheryl slid her hands from the soft arch of Lisbeth's ribs to her stomach. Lisbeth was okay, with only a little surplus flesh. Oh, it did feel good to stroke her warm flesh and sex up the woman! Her hands kept moving, up now, to the towel. Under the towel. She dug her hands into the naked breasts for a luscious moment, enjoying the springy feel of tit and the hard tension of thrilled nipples. Lisbeth had to move and groan, so Cheryl quickly broke contact. Lisbeth had a full sex blush now. Her eyes began to look dreamy and she wet her lips.
Cheryl glanced at Harold. The lad moved up from Lisbeth's calves to her thighs. He blushed, too. Cheryl could tell that he had an erection. Instead of reveling in it, he was ashamed of it, fearing their criticism. His brain failed to realize what his cock told him plainly.
"Higher, Harold," ordered Cheryl.
"I think this is… far enough."
Lisbeth added firm encouragement. "Higher, Harold. There's a bit of soreness higher-uh- higher up.”
"S-sure," His hands crept higher.
"No, Harold, like this," said Cheryl. She turned her back on Lisbeth and faced Harold. She ran her hand up those sweet inner thighs that glistened with sex education. Her wrist pulled back the towel as she fixed on Lisbeth's pink cunt and worked it. Harold stared in frozen fascination. At the same time Cheryl fingered Harold's hard-on in his pants. She squeezed his cock firmly. She felt a little dizzy with all the sexuality going on, her own cunt boiling now and her tits hot and ready.
"I think Mrs. Foster is ready for the full treatment," Cheryl said.
"I'm ready," crooned the happy woman on the bed.
"Huh?" said Harold.
What a turkey. Cheryl mouthed the word "fuck" but Harold couldn't grasp it. She took him by the hand and led him away from the bed.
"I have to go to the bathroom, Mrs. Foster," Cheryl called back over her shoulder, "I'll let Harold finish for me. Is that all right?”
"Perfect," said the older woman. "Beautiful."
To Harold, Cheryl hissed. "Fuck her. She wants it.”
"Oh, my God, I don't dare," he whispered. "She's too nice a woman-”
"Crawl her," she insisted in a low voice. "You're hard and she's wet. She wants it. I happen to know the professor cheats on her. It's all right.”
"I-I-I-”
"If you don't," said Cheryl, "she'll hate you forever. She thinks we plotted all of this because you're crazy for her." She put deadly menace in her voice. "If you back out, she'll smash you for a jerk and a clod. You have no choice.”
He groaned and looked at the bed, where the woman pretended to be resting…
"Harold, don't you want to?”
"Yeah. I think she's sexy, but, but-”
She shoved him toward the bed. As Cheryl went out of the room, the last thing she saw was Harold unbuttoning his shirt and Lisbeth whisking off the towels…
It was no trouble finding the room where Lisbeth had stacked all her art objects. Finding the small figurine was a different matter. Cheryl groaned when she saw the clutter of stuff-pictures, lamps, small tables, figurines, jewelry. Evidently a lot of artistic people had attended Brighton and had had time to create a lot of objects. It was going to take her a half hour to go through all of this stuff thoroughly and she knew she didn't have that much time. Furthermore, the light was dim. She stood in the middle of the room and gave a small wail of despair. It was like going through somebody's crowded attic.
At least there might be another light switch to make the job easier. She turned back towards the door-and froze in triumph. There it was, all by itself, set just inside the door on the floor where Lisbeth must have placed it when she got it earlier today. Salt-ugly as ever yet heartwarmingly familiar in every line. The end of the chase. Cheryl scooped it up with a glad cry and cut the light and headed out of the room and toward the stairs to sneak out of the house. Lisbeth would certainly understand, and it would save Harold embarrassment. She listened at the bedroom door and heard reassuring sounds that told her Harold and Lisbeth would be occupied for a while.
There were front stairs and back stairs in a house like this. She chose the back stairs in order to avoid the professor, who was undoubtedly preening himself down in his study, waiting for his massage that would never come. She felt guilty about deserting Harold when the professor could possibly catch him, but she doubted that Foster would do much. He-had his own guilt to contend with.
Through a pantry, into the kitchen, and toward the back door. She had to check if the Gypsy were still crammed up inside the figurine, but that could wait until she fled the house.
A strong hand closed on her wrist; she was spun about to face the professor, dressed now only in a robe, and glaring at her with gleaming eyes.
"Leaving so soon?" he said.
"I-uh-have another appointment," she said, struggling.
He stared at Salt and back into her face. His grip did not relax.
"I'm sure you can spare me a minute. I want to show you something."
"Wha-what?”
He walked her back through the kitchen into the front part of the house. His grip on her arm was compelling. He opened the door to the library and thrust her through, into the book-filled, leather furnished room. Under ordinary circumstances Cheryl would've loved to relax in this happy, comfortable room. Not tonight. Especially not after she saw instantly what he'd brought her here to see. the big Foster home included closed circuit TV among its features. Right now a camera in the master bedroom upstairs focused on the bed of Lisbeth Foster. It showed two naked bodies, writhing around each other. So far Lisbeth and Harold weren't fucking. It might be better if they were. You could see everything this way-Lisbeth's hand closed on Harold's smallish stiff prick, Lisbeth's wet, gleaming cunt as she opened her legs in anticipation of the joy to come and Harold tonguing and sucking the woman's quite good breasts.
"That was a great massage," said Foster dryly. "From down here it looked like you shoved your whole fist up Lisbeth's box to get her locked.”
Cheryl gasped in amazement and embarrassment. "You-spy on your wife?”
"Not like this usually," he chuckled. "We've had the closed circuit TV in the kids' bedrooms for years. Then they grew up and left. I didn't want to waste it. In fact I improved it with a better camera and a master monitor here, since I spend so much time in the library.”
He pushed a button and set off the zoom effect on the camera upstairs. The picture enlarged to show the screen full of Lisbeth's fist jacking off Harold's cock. She could see Harold's cock veins and fine hairs on Lisbeth's hand.
"Improvements," he chuckled. "Lisbeth doesn't pay much attention. With the two of us alone in the house she uses it when she's upstairs or in the kitchen to talk to me. We have several cameras-it saves a lot of steps.”
Cheryl heard the sounds now. Not as good as in regular TV, but quite audible and very embarrassing. Harold praised Lisbeth's breasts. Lisbeth murmured something about being hot and ready and "let's do it.”
"Lisbeth is so used to it, she never thinks about it any more," he went on. "I rigged the bedroom camera so I could watch her undress. Sometimes she plays with herself. I sit down here getting hot and then I rush upstairs and we really go at it. Believe it or not, she doesn't realize why I get so hot at certain times. She never cared much for mechanical things.”
"Why, that's-voyeurism," breathed Cheryl.
"Beyond question," he said. "It keeps my marriage green.”
"But with an outside lover… ”
“I don't think she has any. This wouldn't be happening if you hadn't put the boy up to it. Lisbeth's not stupid. She wouldn't go out of her way to seduce somebody, but she likes Harold, and when something like this suddenly offers, she won't deprive herself.”
“It's gross!" cried Cheryl.
"Totally," said Foster. "I've reached the age when it takes new things to reach excitement. Call it middle-aged madness." He chuckled again.
"Aren't you going to stop it?" she asked.
"No. She's entitled, considering I've done a few extra-curricular things myself. Perhaps you've noticed.”
All this time they'd been struggling with her blouse, he to loosen it, she to keep it buttoned. She lost because she still clutched Salt. Now he undid her cut-off jeans.
"Professor!" she cried in shock.
"You're going to have to, you know, if you want to leave this house with that silly looking thing," he said calmly.
He peeled down her shorts and panties over her hips and below her knees, right down to her boots. He gave a shove; she gave a cry, and she found herself sitting in a big leather chair while he stripped off her boots, her shorts and panties. With her cape gone and her blouse unbuttoned and flung back, she might as well be naked.
"I don't want this," she wailed.
"We'll put the boots back on," he said. "I've always wanted to fuck a sexy young girl wearing only boots.”
She struggled, but he managed to replace her boots. Then he spun her over to the big, comfortable leather sofa. While she ended up in a tangle of arms and legs, he removed his robe. He was naked underneath and already hard. It had been planned.
"This is attempted rape," she cried.
"I don't think you'll want to tell your side of it when I tell what happened before,” he said smoothly. "Coed high jinks don't include a woman fingering another woman, or setting up an innocent boy to fuck an older woman. Then don't forget-I hold the ace card.”
"Wha-what?”
He jerked Salt from her hand and set it on an end table. "Play the game and you walk out of here with your figurine in less than ten minutes. Oppose me and you leave alone.”
The whole trouble with her situation was that she'd been sexed up to begin with. She'd left that bedroom upstairs with her cunt sizzling, and her warm juices at full flow. The sight of Harold hadn't done anything to calm her down, nor the actions of the hot-bellied woman upstairs. The kinkiness of voyeuring the love-making kept her high. To think the Professor watched his own wife being fucked turned her on some more. As for the professor, he shocked her, but his randiness didn't turn her off. Her own father was so uptight and stiff that it was a pleasure to meet an older man who was more than a little sex-crazy. Still, she had to make some kind of a struggle.
"Let me go," she cried, writhing against his naked body as he tried to mount her saddle. "I'm not a cheap, wild girl.”
"Shut up and watch the show, and let things happen," he ordered.
She didn't have much choice. His heavy hips pinned her down and his prick, digging here and there to find her hole, began to excite her.
"I want you to know that I don't approve of this," she said. Then: "Ohhhhh.”
About three inches of cock slid into her cunt, which was well-oiled to receive the sexy messenger.
"I-know it," he grunted in pleasure. "It's not-your-uh-fault.”
"I disown this. uhhhhhh." His prick oozed up her vagina to take her full measure.
"I hold you blameless, Cheryl. Sweet Cheryl! Sexy Cheryl!" he cried and began to thrust.
Over his shoulder, Cheryl had an excellent view of the screen and the action upstairs. They had stopped fooling around. Harold laid on top of Lisbeth Foster and drilled into her with his cock. Lisbeth took it with fabulous wriggles of her hips to get the full effect of the smallish cock. She didn't have to wiggle to get the full thrill of her fuck. The professor was plenty big. He fucked in and out of her at an almost sedate pace that was excruciatingly lovely, a real cocksman.
He turned his head. "Let's see how-they're doing-" he gasped.
He reached over her head and found a control. He worked both the angle and the zoom and the pictures shot up to a full sight of Harold's cock reaming into Lisbeth's envelope, gleaming with her juices. The fabulous close-up filled the screen. He put her hand on it to show her how it worked.
"En-joy," he said.
A sweet, dazed feeling crept over Cheryl. Everything was going to come out okay. She had Salt back and she knew the necklace was inside. Lisbeth and Harold upstairs were going to make out all right and never be aware that others watched them fucking. It would be good for the virginal Harold and the lovely but restrained Lisbeth, who certainly deserved a little adulterous sex. The professor was happy, not only with the wild voyeur act of seeing his wife fucked, but with the joy of screwing a long-legged blonde wearing boots. All Cheryl had to do was lay back, watch the show, and relax.
"Ah, good, good," she said, approving of the tight cock slide in her cunt, despite earlier reluctance. He had a good contact with her clit and she felt the leaping, delightful thrills of the action on her main sex nerve. His slow steady strokes were a welcome change from the wild bucking the young men usually gave her.
"Purr-fect," he crooned, hands under her ass to cant her loins for his best angle.
He was more absorbed in watching the effect of his prick and its impact on her than watching the screen. She couldn't keep her eyes off the TV picture, wiggling the controls to watch the fuck upstairs, first from afar and then zooming in for different angles of the struggling bodies. She felt quite sophisticated, worldly, and full of crazy good humor at being fucked while she watched others fuck. Who'd ever believe this? Poor Abby should've come along for this adventure.
Her body went moist; the professor sagged in delicious contact, lying on her belly so that the air squished out between them with an obscene sound. He began to suck her nipples. She began to fuck back against his thrilling, terrific prick as her own ecstasy soared. Still she managed to keep half an eye on the lascivious action between Harold and Lisbeth.
For the first time in sex Cheryl felt a wild bitch delight that she'd never experienced before. This sex was different than anything that had happened to her. She loved the professor's swollen plunging prick, but she didn't love him. She could forget about trying to please him to enjoy herself. She opened her being to the exquisite sensation of the cock riding her clit in order to extract every bit of sensual joy from it. Each stroke backwards and forwards seemed to drive high voltage pleasure along an intricate set of white hot wires extending up from her cunt to her stomach and breasts and down to her thighs and calves.
She became aware that his hot body plastered to hers pleased a different set of sensuous nerves in her smooth skin. Still another intense flood of joy poured from her locked and responding nipples. She was a total woman in a total fuck.
"Ah, so sweet-geting hotter," mumbled her lover. His pace increased.
Her own loins moved faster and increased all these joys.
"You're-fucking-me crazeee," she keened.
It was true and the frank word made it that more enjoyable. Not sex for love or for power or to impress or win something. Sex to please only the complicated existing love network with which her body was endowed. Talk about hedonist pleasure! This was the peak.
Beyond that her eyes brought her additional excitement as she watched the fuck taking place upstairs. What a privilege to see the sex-lock of two naked adult bodies; twisting and thrusting in ecstatic joy. She'd seen X-rated movies, but they didn't satisfy as well as what took place on the TV screen across the way, especially with that zoom attachment.
She got a further erotic thought. If ever she had a chance to beat her disgusting hangups, now was the golden time. She was locked in delightful man-woman sex and witnessing still another couple do it.
"Oh, so goooood," she murmured.
The professor's response was to fix his mouth on her beautiful lips and start to kiss her open-mouthed and hot. He had everything going now, mouth on mouth, hand kneading a full, exquisite and naked tit, and stiff cock riding to glory deep in the young woman's cunt. He'd worked like the devil all his life to become well-to-do and well known, and he felt it was a deserved reward for his achievement to be able to fuck a beautiful young girl like this. He hung in a blissful heaven.
Upstairs, Lisbeth felt her whole life attitude change. Her sex with the professor had dwindled to almost nothing. It wasn't his fault; after years and years the zing was gone. She suspected he managed to seduce a hot-eyed coed now and again but had reserved herself, even though other lecherous academicians and even younger men found her worthy of pursuing. She knew her body was good -yet she held back-until now. Young Harold turned her on-his innocence, his respect, his hidden sexuality. He was the one young man she'd risk all for.
She felt her belly suffused with tingling joy from the adequate but not overpowering prick. Years peeled off as he rocked, dazed and glazed in the wonder of his first fuck, loving her through every pore of his body. Just as she'd forgotten the hot ecstasies of her young womanhood, she'd forgotten the staying power of young pricks. Harold hung her on golden ropes of extreme sex joy. She surged up under him and locked and gave a high-pitched "Yeeeeeee" of total excitement as her tension burst and she succumbed to an ache-relieving set of pleasure runs that restored the animal gusto of her youth…
A surprised Harold felt the body of his patroness stiffen under him and then it seemed as if her cunt gloved on his cock in strong spasms while she made sounds of gurgling joy. Even in his innocence he realized he'd brought the woman to orgasm. For him the whole evening had been a flood of pleasure and excitement after years of wondering about sex and never having any. First the two young women in his car, and now this.
"Sacre Bleu. Zut!" he went.
Then his floodgates opened, and it was nothing at all like masturbation or even a cocksuck. It was total glory to ejaculate hot bursts of seed into a pink, quaking cunt. He keened and gasped his pleasure, holding the woman and bursting off his luscious spend in her, aware of achieving his manhood with each spuming throb of his cock. He half-fainted in the joy of spending his first virginal gushes into a female cunt…
Downstairs, dreamy, sated with sensual experiences, Cheryl watched and saw the orgasm upstairs. On close-up she could actually see the exploding cock throb as it delivered its spunk and pressed forward into Lisbeth's cunt, only to slide back and inch and carry forward with the next throb.
"Oh, my God," she marveled.
The professor no longer kissed her. His face hung before hers, wide-eyed, glazed. His body locked. He gave animal grunts. He was done and she hadn't cum. He delivered. She felt his cock quake as he spent body-hot gushes in her vagina right on her uterus, but she wasn't going to gush.
She gave a cry. "Oh, nooooooo!”
She flashed on Abby's soft body twined with hers, the sweet rub of cunt sex, and went breathless. As the professor finished and tapered off with a happy "Zowwww!", she was able to give up gorgeous spasms of taken girlhood, as she fantasized the lesbian act. She spent off her tension and fulfilled her deep need for orgasm, yet there was the tinge of bitterness. Even with all of the sex dainties of this evening, she still had her beastly hang-up.
Foster hastened her dressing and shoved her out of the door, complete with Salt. She practically trotted to the nearest street lamp to examine it. She felt the gems in the hollow figurine and her heart sang, but when she pulled the object out it wasn't the Gypsy at all. It was merely a dime store necklace that either Tom, Spider or Harold had substituted for the real thing. With all of her vigorous searching and all the incredible sex, she still hadn't recovered the prize she had to have. She leaned against the lamp post and wept.